Connecticut Woodlands

July 23, 2017



On tree trunks and branches  

such mold may be seen                                

as to render the forest                                 

a hand-painted green                              


by a mythical                                              

mischievous elf or wood sprite                                                               

as base-coat for winter’s                                     

fine icicle white               


so we may, as he does,    

make merry with cold,

remember the green,

and never grow old.


Rear Windows


When I look out back

at the nearby woods


I see back into a time

for centuries unchanged


teeming with beings

to each other attuned


and by electronics




Springtime Mythology


Renewal comes when daffodils

spring up from the ground,

forsythias burst to blossom

and azaleas all abound,


reviving ancient sagas  

of Orpheus here above

leading Eurydice up from Hades

not by bravery but by love.


Sounds of Spring


Woodpecker drumming on a hollow log.

Bullfrog humming in a woodland bog.


Sounds tumble through the centuries

by our forebears heard


bringing them into our hearts

without need to say a word.


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